


Heavy Communication

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Psychic Bond, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-23
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The proud few who stopped the apocalypse have a bond too deep for words. They need another form of communication.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ladyeternal).



Sometimes, you can feel completely alone, no matter how close you are to someone.

Dean feels it sometimes when they're driving. He looks over at Sam in the passenger seat, sees him smile, lobs a smile back, and feels it like a dead weight in his gut. _This isn't how it's supposed to be,_ he thinks. _Not after everything. Not after we've literally been to hell for each other. It shouldn't feel this awkward, this normal. This unremarkable._

Is this the relationship that saved the world? he thinks. Is this the brotherly love that inspired angels to rebel and demons to abandon dark dreams? He moved heaven, hell and earth, he died and returned, he subverted the ambitions of God and the devil, for this? A few meaningless smiles, a slightly uneasy silence? It feels wrong. It feels like by now they ought to be something different. they should be able to share dreams. To read each other's thoughts. they should be so far beyond miscommunication that they're practically one person.

Dean's tired. The events of the past five years have taken the fire out of him. All the passion he had stored up, ridden on for so long is gone. Sam is back, they're alive and together again, but alive and together aren't enough anymore.

He remembers, years ago, walking out of the theater after seeing "The Truman Show," the audience chattering around him about the wonderfully uplifting ending. Truman was free, he was heading out into the real world. The girl he'd longed for would meet him there, and the two of them would have so much opened up to them. That's what everyone was saying, but Dean didn't come away with that impression at all. The end made him melancholy. Truman would step through the door made of a painted sky, move out of the carefully constructed vista, and pass through darkness. And when he found the exit at last, the world that greeted him would be so much more drab, so much less forgiving than the one he'd been living in. How would he avoid being horribly disillusioned? Dean wanted to find that poor hapless protagonist and slap him. After the end, there is no reward, he wanted to say. There is no transcendent moment where reality delivers on all its unspoken promises. There's just more of the same.

Truth is, Dean feels cheated. He should have been rewarded. He and Sam shouldn't be playing the same old games. They should be unified. On the same page forever.

But Sam is acting weird. And not just strange-references-to-literature-and-sci-fi-TV weird. He's acting I've-got-a-secret weird. They shouldn't have secrets, not anymore. There shouldn't be anything Sam doesn't want to tell Dean. And vice versa, although there are things Dean thinks it's probably not worth talking about. But I've-got-a-secret weird is reserved for cases when there are things Dean _should_ know. He knows the signs by now. Fidgeting. Nervous laughs. Sheets not rumpled enough in the morning to have been slept in all night.

And somewhere along the line the weird shifts gears again, to I've-got-a- _good_ -secret weird. Sam is happy and he won't say why. Dean suspects it has very little to do with just being alive and on the road with his brother again, though that's the excuse Sam gives. It's enough to make a guy sulk. Dean's trying not to, but it's hard. They should be light years past this by now. It's stupid.

If they were staying in one place it'd be a sure bet that Sam had met someone. He has the symptoms of a classic case of (now sadly literal) Cupid's-arrow disease. But they're on the road, so it can't possibly be that. Unless Sam has been sneaking out to go chat on eHarmony.com with someone who measures 97 percent compatibility and has a hell of a rack to boot.

Turns out it isn't eHarmony. Not by a long shot.

Dean wanders into the motel room weary and not really paying a whole hell of a lot of attention to his surroundings. He reaches up to rub one of his shoulders, rolling it backward and hearing the muscle and tendons give satisfying pops. There's rustling in bed, Sam having a dream, Dean assumes. It's late. Dean didn't really expect him to still be up.

He's about to just melt right into his bed without so much as removing the itchy white dress shirt he wears for impersonating-an-officer felonies. The pillow sounds like such an amazing invention right now. But then there's a hiss, and his eyes adjust to the darkness well enough to see a not-Sam-shaped shape moving around in Sam's bed.

His jacket falls to the floor, and he freezes, hand still closed around his opposite shoulder. Still, he listens.

Movement in the sheets. "I told you--"

"But I don't want to!" Whispers disguise the voices.

"You want to get caught?"

"Maybe I do!" The whisper breaks and _whoa_ that's a familiar voice.

Dean clears his throat. "Did I walk into the wrong motel room here? Should really talk to the management about having the same key for all the rooms." He starts to back toward the door when the sheets go flying and a face looks up at him that he couldn't forget if he tried.

For all his faults, Dean doesn't swear that often. But this time, he hollers. "What the _fuck_?"

Gabriel chuckles. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." He snaps his fingers and the lights go on. Oh, God, that's _chest hair_ , not a lot of it but some, and why is Dean looking at this? What is Gabriel doing in Sam's bed?

And worse, what is Sam doing lying underneath Gabriel, looking nothing more than vaguely annoyed?

"Sam?" Dean's angry. "You gonna explain this?"

"It's kind of obvious, isn't it?" Sam rolls his eyes, tilting his head toward Dean. "I don't think there's much left to explain."

"Oh, really?" Dean fingers the gun at his belt, not so much because he's going to use it but because it makes him feel better. "How about the part where he's supposed to be dead? And how about the part where he's a guy?"

"Angel," Gabriel interrupts, and his voice is sharp-edged. "You're the one who outed me, as you might recall. And sorry for not living up to your expectations again, Dean-o." He sighs and slides out from beneath the sheets. Dean shields his eyes because angel dick is not on his list of must-see TV. Gabriel sees his discomfort, grabs a pillow and stuffs it between his legs, thighs and arms sticking out on both sides, making him look like a spider with a stuffed plush body. It'd be comical if it were a stranger, but it ain't, and this ain't funny.

Sam sits up, careful to keep himself covered. "Look, Dean. I know this sounds weird, but... Gabriel and I have kind of... bonded. I don't know how else to put it. It's like, we both gave our lives for you, and we were both brought back. And when you've done that, when you've gone that far, it's hard to find someone who understands the feeling. So..."

"So you started boinking?" Dean shouts. He can't not shout. The situation demands volume. "What the hell kind of feeling are you trying to get understood, anyway?"

"Dean!" Sam's jaw sets. He waits for a good, long chunk of silence before he responds. "It's different. You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't I?" His legs won't support him anymore. He sits on his bed, just as far away from these two as he can comfortably perch. It doesn't even matter that they're naked anymore, because Sam has just touched the third rail. "I died for you, too, in case you don't remember."

"You died in spite of me, Dean!" Sam's hand slams onto the bed. "Every time you died, it was because I couldn't save you. You think I would have wanted you to make that crossroads deal?"

"Boys, boys!" Gabriel slides his hand along Sam's shoulder, like he's smoothing down a pet's unruly fur, and Sam glowers but falls silent. "Look. Dean." He leans forward, still curled around his pillow. "Sam's right. It's not something you can understand, not right now. I'm sorry you found out like this-- well, OK, no, I'm not-- but the point is, what does it matter what we do, so long as Sam's happy?"

Of course he's right, at least in theory, but Dean's too wound up to think about that. "It matters because Sam should be plenty happy with me!" Sam and Gabriel exchange a glance, but Dean doesn't notice. "What the hell's he need to bond with you for? We should--" His eyes turn to Sam, and suddenly it all comes tumbling out. "We should understand each other by now. We should be over all this! It should be you and me, and you shouldn't have to go to anyone else to get something I can't give you--"

He cuts himself off. Gabriel gives a whistle. "Guess you just found out what that sounds like," he says, half-giggling.

"Shut up or I will shoot you in the face," Dean says. He's blushing now. Hard.

Sam gets up, draping a sheet around his waist, and goes to sit next to Dean on the adjacent bed. "I agree with you," he says in a low tone. "Dean, I couldn't agree with you more. But the problem is, I really do need this. It's like, sometimes, I'm not sure I'm really alive. And then Gabriel-- when I'm with him, I can _feel_ myself. I don't know if I can explain it more than that. Not without--"

Sam's speaking so carefully, Dean can't even think to make the obvious jokes. "You don't feel yourself when you're with me."

"Not completely."

"So what do I do, Sammy?" Dean turns to him, and their silhouettes cast the shape of a vase onto the wall. They're that close. "How do I make you feel yourself?"

Sam doesn’t speak. He just looks at Dean, his eyes mournful.

"You have to join in," says Gabriel quietly from behind him.

Sam stiffens, and in one look Dean can tell Gabriel meant it. He pales. "I have to... what?"

"You have to join in, " Gabriel repeats. "With us. And the sexy naked times."

Dean gets up. "That's bull. You--" he points a finger at Gabriel-- "are fucking with me."

"Am I?" Gabriel's face shifts in that moment, and Dean abruptly remembers the time they outed him, the sudden, dark glow of eyes that until that moment had only ever sparkled with mirth. He can switch on a dime, this guy, and Dean fights down a flood of intimidation and keeps his gaze firm as Gabriel goes on. "You've been feeling it too, haven't you? Like there ought to be something more. You guys saved the world. You stopped the Apocalypse. You've been through heaven and hell. Multiple times. You think a little conversation and brotherly banter's still gonna cut it? You need more, because you've seen more. Your relationship's never gonna be normal. When you think about it, that's the only thing you haven't taken to the next level. What's stopping you? You've got the golden ticket to heaven. Take advantage of the immunity."

Somewhere during Gabriel's speech, Dean turns to stare at Sam. Sam's eyes are huge, pleading, and Dean is lost in them, in the hunger they're communicating. Sam has felt something Dean's never felt. He wants to invite Dean in. And Dean's eyes slip down across the line of his neck, the muscle of his chest, and for the first time, he really, consciously _wonders._

He clears his throat before he speaks, but his voice still comes out husky and ragged. "Are you saying you want...?"

"Yeah," Sam's eyes are roving over Dean's body too, now, and Dean can feel the longing, like a touch. "Yeah, I kind of do."

"Wait a minute." Dean snaps away. "Wait a minute. If this is some sort of brotherly bonding thing, what the hell are you doing with him?"

"Dean." Sam's jaw shifts forward. His lips are tight. "Let me explain."

"Yeah, you better."

Sam draws his fingers through his hair. "It's like this. Gabriel explained it to me. He's the one who told me what I was feeling, explained all that. About being in heaven and hell and-- he wanted us to be OK, he wanted it for you and me, Dean. But I-- I wanted him to be part of it."

"Because he's so trustworthy."

"Because he's _right._ And he always has been. Dean, he's just like us. He didn't want all this, but he went through it, he died for us. To give us a chance. How is that not proof enough that he's on our side?"

"Oh, I don't know." Dean grimaces. "Maybe the fact that he's _not really dead?_ "

"Oh, I was," Gabriel says, getting to his feet. In a beat he's dressed again, sparing Dean another moment of embarrassment. "That's half the point. It's not natural, it doesn't make sense. Why the hell am I here? Probably because I'm supposed to be. We all ought to be dead and in hell multiple times, but we're not. Who can understand what that's like? My brothers wouldn't. Normal people wouldn't. We're all freaks now, kiddo. All three of us, and we'll never be able to get close to someone on the outside. Not the way we're close to each other."

Dean knows he's right. He can feel it, nagging, pulling at his gut, with every curiously serious word Gabriel speaks. It's weird, to hear Gabriel talking like this, but when Gabriel talks, you damn well _listen._ And Sam is patient, fists curled on the bed, waiting for a verdict. Dean starts feeling that ages-old urge. _Don't let Sam down,_ it says. _Don't disappoint him. He's counting on you._

"So." He scratches his head. "Why's it got to be physical? Can't we do, like, a Vulcan mind-meld?"

"You'll know when you feel it, kiddo," Gabriel says, and Sam nods agreement.

Dean faces Sam down. "You're totally on board with this? No doubt in your mind?"

Another nod. Dean watches the shag of hair bob up and down briefly. He wonders what it would be like to just run his hands into that mop of hair and lean in to Sam and...

"Just do it."

Barely spoken, maybe just whispered into his mind, and when he glances at Gabriel he sees lips curled into a smile. His heart is pounding in his ears. Is he really even thinking about this?

Then he looks at Sam again, sees the expectation and hope in his eyes, and before he knows it he's shifting forward on the bed. His hands slide in to Sam's hair, and they're face to face, breathing in each other's breath.

"Dean," Sam says, the one syllable miles deep.

He wants to mutter something, to give a disclaimer of some sort, but his mouth's on Sam's before he can think of the words, and _oh God_ he's opening up inside, he sees light, he feels the whole world differently, but mostly he feels _Sam_ and it's like they've been vibrating on two frequencies that have finally come into synch. He falls into Sam, opens his mouth and his heart for Sam to taste, and if there was any hesitation left in him it's gone now, in the face of this new openness, this discovery of a dimension to the world that he'd never been able to perceive.

When he lets go, he's trembling. Sam watches his face, patiently, smiling. waiting for him to get the words out.

The words he comes up with are, "Holy crap."

Gabriel cackles.

Sam grabs his face and kisses him again; Dean feels like a sugar cube in coffee, melting into Sam's embrace. He sees the world through Sam's eyes now, he hears Sam's thoughts and feels his memories. Sam's laying him down on the bed, covering his lips with kisses, and Dean is holding on for dear life because he's never had this kind of perspective before. It's like being in zero gravity, like flying. Completely unfamiliar, but freeing. His hand curls around the nape of Sam's neck, tightening like a collar, and Sam growls. Dean feels Sam's excitement magnifying his own. It's like standing between two facing mirrors. It drives the sensation out into eternity.

Sam's mouth leaves his and drifts down across his shoulder, and Dean's lit up like a pinball machine, all flashing lights and bumpers and wildly spinning silver. He groans and clutches Sam's head, drags his hands like heavy leaden weights down Sam's back. Sam's spine arches beneath his touch. A noise escapes Sam's mouth, followed by words: "Wanted this so badly, Dean." Dean cranes his neck upward, rocking his hips against Sam's just once and feeling the strange clashing heat there.

Sam's name comes from his mouth and it's a plea for help, a desperate cry. He's afraid of what he sees, afraid of being dashed against the jagged edges of memory. But strong arms are there, wet mouth is there, and he clings to the constant comfort and companionship that is, has always been, his brother. When he whimpers in the shape of Sam's name again, it's relief and gratitude.

Somewhere in the background of all this, Gabriel is making his way across the motel room's carpet. "Well," he says, "now that you two seem to be doing all right I suppose I'll just--"

Dean breaks away and takes in a cold gulp of air. "Don't you dare."

Gabriel stops and frowns. "Excuse me?" Sam's eased off him and is staring in equal confusion.

Dean sits up, wipes his lips with his forearm. "You," he says, struggling to get the words out, "you said _join us_ , not _join him._ "

The angel's got a decidedly non-angelic look on his face, and the devilish eyebrows don't help. "Yeah, but Dean, I'm just the messenger. That was my old job, back in the day. Herald of the Lord. I got you two sorted out and-- _what?_ "

The _what_ is directed at Dean's smirk, pink mouth curved upward against flushed cheeks. Dean shrugs. "I always thought you were awesome," he says, sliding upward and approaching Gabriel.

Behind him, Sam sputters. Gabriel's just frozen to the spot.

"Only thing stopping me--" Dean's voice rumbles-- "was that whole killing thing. Take it since your cover was blown you haven't done much more of that, and..." His hands slip into Gabriel's. Sam is making noises like he's been turned into a dolphin, or someone's cut off his air supply. "I can't exactly blame you for being a dick. But, you know." He shrugs. "I just think you're awesome. So, if you wanna, I'm cool with it."

He gives Gabriel a blinding smile. It's all true, but it's not the whole truth. The whole truth is that he can't quantify the gift Gabriel's given him by teaching him how to reconnect with Sam. And through that connection, he's felt what Sam feels for Gabriel. It's bled over into his own consciousness. Sam's want is part of him now, and coupled with his own gratitude, it's overpowered his common sense. Dean knows that Gabriel deserves to be here and that he wants Gabriel here, and the rest doesn't matter.

He backs off, sits back down on the bed, and holds out his hand. "What do you think?"

Gabriel's eyes narrow and his grin widens.

He's in Dean's arms in a hot second, kissing his swollen pink lips and growling like a drunk pirate. Sam's laughter rings in Dean's ears. For an instant everything is joyful and this is just about fun. But when Gabriel opens his mouth to Dean's, when a flicker of soft tongue connects with his, Dean is suddenly submerged in memories he doesn't know how to fathom. Years of loneliness, of homesickness. Of trying to find comfort and failing. Of fear and falling short. And then, that comfort and contact re-established, just an instant before it is stripped away.

Dean breaks the kiss and stares at Gabriel. The silence lingers.

"It's OK," Sam says, placing one hand on Gabriel's shoulder, the other on Dean's. "We're all home now."

Dean holds Gabriel's gaze even as he nods. A moment, and Gabriel returns the nod.

Dean pulls him forward, kissing him again. Sam's lips hover at his neck, then tease in toward their joined mouths to lick at the corners. For an instant of dizzying contact, three tongues meet, and the three-way connection is staggering. Dean breaks off, pants, laughs. Sam leans down to capture Gabriel's mouth, and Dean watches with the knowledge of what they're feeling. He wants to reignite that connection with Sam, wants to feel more of Gabriel's life, and as his hands run over their backs and his lips touch the shoulders, he can pick up on the resonant emotions. Every time they touch, they're touching so much more than skin, and Dean can't get enough of it.

Dean's at a disadvantage, being the only guy with clothes on, but he's got help with that, Sam working at the dress shirt as Dean drags his mouth down over Gabriel's body. It's like touching memory, touching enlightenment, and his hands play over Gabriel's body like fingers over a keyboard. Gabriel's eyebrows twitch, and his mouth puckers. Dean wonders what part of his life Gabriel can now experience, what thoughts he's reading.

He doesn't get an answer, but at one point Gabriel's hands come up to card through his hair, and Dean can feel a swell of sympathy fall over him like a shadow. He groans with the relief of it. Gabriel understands. After all their shouting and their arguments and face-offs, Gabriel gets it now.

For all the communication they're doing, Sam is staying relatively distanced from it, concentrating on the immediate practical concerns of getting Dean naked and finding a way that all three of them can lie on the bed and explore each other. He guides them down, pushes them together and rises up over them, watching what they do, how they cradle and touch and lick at each other. They're both making sounds now, moaning into each other's mouths, and Gabriel's hands are skirting along the line of Dean's hipbone, Dean's venturing lower (who'd have ever thought he'd be the one to do this) to cup Gabriel’s ass, bring their groins together. The sight of their cocks brushing does something to Sam, and he makes a high, pinched noise and grabs them both, enveloping them in his huge hand. Dean arches, Gabriel shouts, and they kiss each other all the harder for the stimulation that's now enveloping them.

Dean's discovering. He feels Gabriel's loneliness and he feels Sam's desire to bring him into their family. Somewhere in the connection Dean reasons that Sam is probably in love with Gabriel, or well on his way there. Which doesn't make what they're doing cheating, he doesn't think. Like Gabriel said, this is just how they are able to communicate. Only they can understand what's going on in this room right now. Dean doesn't think anyone else could possibly understand it. And his heart twinges for a moment as he has a feeling that something else is missing.

But it's brief, and when Sam slides behind him and runs a hand down the small of his back to his ass, Dean loses sight of it altogether. "Oh, Jesus, Sammy," he gasps out in a breath that flies halfway into Gabriel's mouth and is met with a bite and a chuckle.

"What?" Sam whispers in his ear. "Tell me, Dean."

Damn him and damn his interminable patience. Dean ruts backward and then up again into his hand. "Think I... think I want you to fuck me," he gasps, the words as much of a surprise to him as they are to anyone.

Sam murmurs a soft chuckle into the back of his neck, then slides his tongue up to lick at his ear. "Wait till you feel it," he murmurs. "Dean, it's so good. So good."

The words shatter Dean's patience. "Now," he begs, his forehead beading with swear. "Now, now."

Gabriel licks the hollow of his throat. "Patience, sport," he whispers. "We're getting there."

"Want you to fuck me, too," Dean blurts out. "Shit. Just want--"

Gabriel presses his forehead to Dean's and suddenly the connection is stronger and clearer than it was even when their mouths were seared together. Dean's eyes open, but he's not seeing what's in front of him. He's seeing a promise, and a future, and everything Gabriel knows about the way the fates have brought them to this moment. He's being guided by charcoal-grey wings and a wicked smile. He can see Gabriel's halo.

He breathes hard and forces the desperation to the background. "Right," he whispers. "I'm good. I'm good."

"Oh, yes, you are." Gabriel kisses him gently with lips that taste of citrus candy. "You're so good."

Sam slides away from him, fumbles briefly, and then Dean seizes up as sudden slick fingers slide down the cleft of his ass. "Oh, my God," he says, his head snapping back to stare at the headboard. Gabriel leans in and licks his neck with long, wet, lavish strokes as Dean, whole body frozen, concentrates on getting used to the feeling. He breathes shallowly and grips Gabriel's arms for support as Sam's emotions wind around him, looking at his memories with new eyes and forgiving so much that Dean has never forgiven himself. Dean's body relaxes, and his mind opens. He will allow Sam in as far as he wants to go.

Sam's free hand is on his shoulder. Gabriel's hand meets it, and their fingers intertwine on Dean's skin. For a moment of stillness, it's all he can feel. He gives a soft groan. There's so much love, so much compassion there. He's stirring the waters of a deep well, and something basic in him is reset, is restored from the broken state it had been stuck in. Dean sighs with relief, and the words come freely from his mouth: "I love you."

"I love you too, Dean," Sam says, and then he's sliding into him, soft, slow, gradual.

It feels like going back in time. Dean's eyelids shut, his eyes roll up into his head, and he's submerged in Sam, in all the things they've ever done with and to and for each other. With each thrust, a new memory. With each touch of lips on skin, a new resolution. And Gabriel guiding them along, a guardian angel, keeping their path straight as they learn each other all over again.

Sam's in Dean's childhood. He's watching Dean entrusted with the care of a child, though he's nothing more than a child himself. Dean touches the memories of a mother as a fairy-tale figure he'd never met. Sam's hand slides down Dean's body, stopping on his heart. For a moment none of this is sexual at all and they're just children, mourning their mother together.

Then, another stroke, a hand coming down over his stomach and Dean's at college with Sam, feeling him in love, watching him plan a future that seems so normal and optimistic. For the first time those dreams are realistic, viewed through Sam's eyes, and Dean hurts with him as they're torn away.

Gabriel kisses him, brings him back to the present. He's reached down to stroke Dean's cock and is rutting up against one of Dean's thighs. Everything is physical and overwhelming again for a few minutes, breaths hard and fast in his ear and on his face, long legs so tangled they're almost braided. Dean kisses back, hard, and groans. He hears Sam's echoing groan behind him. The three of them are moving so effortlessly together it's like they're of the same mind.

When Dean's eyes close again he's got both Sam and Gabriel's memories, of meeting and meeting again, of the obsession Sam carried with him for so long in a six months that never happened but burned the Trickster's image into his brain nonetheless, and of the way they met again somewhere between death and life. Dean falls slowly into an understanding of what happened between them, how Gabriel restored Sam's humor and Sam restored Gabriel's goodness, and he approves. He approves, and his good wishes wind around the two of them and cause soft gasps to echo in his ears. Sam whispers his name, and echoing in Dean's ear it sounds like a thank-you.

Their togetherness is a thing of its own now, something that ought to have its own name. It isn't just sex, but it's so very sexy, and Dean knows he's pushing himself back onto Sam despite the wild disorienting stretch of his body that makes him want to do the opposite. Every single time he's sure he can't take it, the discomfort transmutes into pleasure again and he finds himself daring his body, pushing himself past the breaking point. It's what he does, what he's always done, and it's never felt this good.

Sam's hand and Gabriel's have met again, this time on Dean's cock, and this time Dean can feel their desire for him, desire to understand him as a human, as a brother. He's gasping, making strangled noises. His hands go to claws, scratch down Gabriel's chest, grab his hips and dig in. Gabriel moans and his moan draws an answering one from Sam. Enveloped by heat and sweat and noise and love, Dean throws his head back and holds on for dear life as Sam thrusts far into him, Gabriel jerks hard on him, and with a shout and a blast of white light he's gone.

A second later he's back, his body shaking, his cock throbbing with every gentle touch. He looks down and sees Gabriel's and Sam's hands covered in his come. Gasping, whimpering in a way he should be ashamed of, he holds tight to Gabriel's hips and tries to recover himself. He feels like his psyche's been blown to pieces, like there are bits of him still inside Sam and Gabriel, clinging to their memories. Gabriel covers his face in kisses, Sam breathes warm and loving on his neck, and Dean knows only that he wants to give back.

He relaxes, backs into Sam's slowed thrusts, and twists his body around so he can meet Sam in a kiss. _Go ahead,_ his mind whispers to Sam's, _use me. I'm all yours._ Sam groans, burrows his head into Dean's neck, and begins to thrust with urgency. Dean curls his fingers around Sam's hand, lifting it from his cock and placing it instead on Gabriel's. His own hand lingers there and begins to stroke, fingers sliding up along the ridge and over the crown as Sam's hand remains at the base. Gabriel gives a cry that chokes itself off halfway through, and he swallows and starts to rock into the two hands surrounding him. Dean breaks off their wild kissing to give Gabriel a smile. _It's all OK. This is for you._

Dean gently pulls them through their own orgasms, Gabriel sputtering and coming against his hand and Sam shuddering as he spills inside him. They're both beautiful, both moments of vulnerability, and Dean feels at once triumphant and humbled that he got to make them happen. When it's over, they're all sticky and messy and tangled together, and nobody wants to move. So they just lie there, sleepy, grinning stupid grins.

Sam speaks first. "So... did you like it?" His voice is slurred.

"Stupid question," Dean retorts, but he sounds equally groggy. "It was... really intense." Which is about the only word he can think of to describe sex that broke through a thousand taboos and turned his mind inside-out. It's hard to come up with good words with an inside-out mind.

Gabriel's not even laughing. He's looking at Dean with a mixture of affection and apprehension, and his gaze remains steady until Dean finally has to ask, "What?"

The intense eyes lower, and eyelashes bat at him demurely. "This wasn't it, right?" Gabriel wants to sound insistent, but all he really sounds is nervous. "You'll come join us again?"

Dean chuckles. "Yeah." He kisses Gabriel's forehead, and the last threads of shared mindspace dissolve. His head is his own again, and it's a relief, but it's also kind of disappointing. He can still feel Gabriel and Sam's minds resonating, and he envies their connection. For the second time, he feels the twinging ache of something missing, but he can't quite name it. But then sleep is claiming him, and he succumbs to it, sweaty and happy, knowing he's not alone.

Outside, though, another angel is alone. And he's watching.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The proud few who stopped the apocalypse have a bond too deep for words. They need another form of communication._

It's what has become a typical night post-hunt in the Winchester roadshow. Sweat, fear, adrenaline; the satisfaction of a job done; and the nightmares it always stirs up. Tonight's menace was a toxic creature that exacerbated anxieties and fears, throwing both Sam and Dean for a loop. Their antidote is each other, and when Gabriel meets them at the motel, all three know that they will find solace there.

All of which is a shortcut to saying that Gabriel's on his hands and knees, jerking Sam off with a patient hand and dropping kisses all over his body. Behind him, Dean sits in a chair by the wall, stroking himself, lazily watching the games. Sam is sensitive to this kind of treatment; he tends to undulate and make a lot of noise, and it's a hell of a show. Since the taboos were blasted away, Dean has slowly been able to enjoy the physicality of it more and more. This is the way they relate now; it's warm and it's open and intensely satisfying. He sees nothing wrong with it anymore. None of them do.

But the feeling remains that something's missing. He loves Sam, he loves Gabriel, but they're _in love_ with each other; that's a different kind of bond, and one he just doesn't share with anyone. Which has been fine with him for thirty years. Why it should start to sting now is beyond him. But as with every disappointment and distressing turn of his life, he finds comfort here, with his brother and his lover, and his mind settles into bliss as the pleasure washes through his body.

He isn't the only one feeling a twinge tonight, but the other who does is not standing inside the room. He's outside, looking through the solid doors and draped windows, seeing every motion, and feeling, dimly, every emotion. Castiel has not afforded himself a chance to return to Earth since he left Dean alone all those months ago. Now that he comes down, he's surprised to see what has happened in his absence. Surprised and, perhaps, more than a little jealous.

* * *

Gabriel's surfing an avalanche in Nepal when he sees the figure in the trenchcoat. Doing a double-back-flip off his surfboard, Gabriel lands in the snow and shakes it off, waving one bare arm. "What's up, Castiel? Thought you were gonzo."

"I've come for advice," Castiel says, surveying his brother, who's dressed like he's in Malibu-- zinc on the nose and everything. Castiel doesn't feel the cold, either, but he doesn't quite understand the purpose of the getup.

"Ah, I see." Gabriel nods knowingly. "Need help running the Big House? I don't blame you. It's gotta be a zoo up there. I wouldn't even want to think about the cleanup." He doesn't expect a laugh from Castiel. Still, the level gaze he gets is sobering. "Seriously, what's up? You look like someone peed in your Wheaties."

"I do not eat--" Castiel stops himself. Unimportant. "I want to know about your connection with Sam Winchester."

Gabriel takes Castiel's arm and pops them to a comfortable Chinese cave where the wind isn't howling all around them. His voice echoes off the jagged walls. "My connection? I don't have one, not the kind you're thinking of."

"You are bonded to him."

"I'm in love with him. There's a difference."

Castiel frowns. "What is that? To be in love."

Gabriel folds his arms behind his head and leans back against the cave wall. "Well, it's nothing that needs a marker, or an arrow from one of those fat fucks up in Heaven. It's just about knowing him, wanting to be with him. He has a choice in the matter. If he feels the same way, everything's great. If he doesn't, well, I'll pout, but in the end it's about wanting him to be happy. Fulfilled. It might be a little too heavy for you to get."

"Is that why you sleep with him and Dean?"

Gabriel blinks, then gives a short laugh. "That's different. That's about communication, about staying connected. And frankly, it's fun. But that's the part that's bugging you, isn't it? Not that I'm with Sam, but that Dean's involved, too?"

Castiel twitches as though a bug has just crawled up his leg. "I am not envious," he says, just defensively enough that he has to doubt his own sincerity.

"But?"

"But Dean is..." All at once, and for no reason he can discern, Castiel can say no more.

Gabriel laughs again, this time loud and long. "Castiel. Cas. Honestly. If you like the guy, make a move. It's not rocket science. Every dumbass human since Tarzan of the Apes has managed it successfully at least once."

"How?" Castiel frowns and racks his brain. The answer ought to be in there somewhere. He has thousands of years of history to draw from. But nowhere has he found an instruction manual for wooing.

"Be romantic," Gabriel says, drawing his knees up to his chest and plunking his chin on them. "Do what they do in the movies. Show him you care. You'll manage it somehow. I believe in you, brother." He reaches forward, dots Castiel's nose with the pointed end of his index finger, and vanishes. There's about to be a killer wave off the Australian coast and he doesn't want to miss it.

* * *

They're heading out from Bobby's after a quick weekend stopover and a bit of raucous laughter over beers. It's so weird to know what they've survived, and Bobby's just insider enough to know what they've been through without having been through it himself. He's had his trials, yes, but they weren't quite as epic in scope as the heroes of the Winchester Gospels. Thank God. Bobby's feet have always been planted firmly on the ground. No pun intended.

Dean's loading up the trunk while Sam sits on the passenger side and drums his fingers impatiently on the windowsill, looking peeved already. He's heard werewolf rumors, which always make him nervous and anxious to get the job done with. Dean feels for him, but he's still got to load up fresh supplies. When it's done, he shuts the trunk with a shove and heads toward the driver's-side door.

And runs square into a trenchcoat.

Dean blinks, stumbles, and squints. "Cas?" Inside, Sam is silently goggling.

Castiel looks at him. He opens the driver's-side door. And then he's gone again.

"What the--" Dean looks up, as though he might see Castiel flying away. "The hell was that?" He leans over to peer into the car. "Sammy, did you see that?"

Sam shrugs. "Maybe you locked our keys in the--" Dean jangles his keychain at him. It's _right_ in his hand.

"Right." Dean plops down onto his beloved driver's seat. "Either he's cracked or I have." He points a finger at Sam. "Shut up."

"I wasn't going to--"

"Sure you were." Dean starts the car.

"Maybe it was, like, an angelic brain fart." Sam cracks up.

They roll out of the salvage lot. "As long as that's the only fart I have to deal with on this ride."

* * *

A few days later, in Oregon, it's pouring rain. Sam and Dean are pounding through backwoods trying to get a good lead on the werewolf that's attacking there. (It's somewhat easier to kill werewolves that aren't pretty girls, Dean notes, knowing he's probably a sexist bastard for thinking it but really not caring much. Facts are facts.)

It's muddy, and fallen leaves cake the ground. Where the earth depresses, nasty piles of rainwater are homes for not just floating leaves but also bugs and any number of other unsavory creatures. Sam splashes through one with Dean following quick on his heels, but his feet don't make the same noise when they go over the water. Nor does it feel like it should. Dean has only a half second to look back and speculate. But nothing's there. Just a puddle that for some reason didn't splash when Dean ran through it.

It happens again a moment later, and while Dean doesn't have an explanation for it he does appreciate that his jeans legs aren't getting as spattered as usual. Maybe he can walk on water. Wouldn't that be nice? Useless talents have always been his specialty.

Once they've ganked the beast, they set out at a slower pace to head back to the car. Now Dean has the time and luxury to look ahead of him, and after Sam splashes his way through a puddle Dean pauses just before following him. Before him, reality shifts and sort of blinks, and then there is a trenchcoat lying across the puddle. A well-worn, dirty trenchcoat, with Dean's blocky bootprints all over it. Dean turns to navigate around the puddle, and as soon as he does the coat's gone. It blinks back into existence at the next puddle they encounter, even more soaked and dirty, lying across the shallow water.

Dean snorts. He's a little afraid to look up now. There might be an umbrella hovering above his head at this rate.

* * *

The last straw comes at a diner, after Castiel has actually made proper contact with the two of them to request help with a rogue low-grade angel who is causing trouble at a Colorado megachurch. Having successfully ganked the bastard, Sam and Dean convince him to postpone his return to heaven long enough for the three of them to go out for a long-awaited beer. Dean reaches for the chair to sit down and promptly falls forward and bangs his chin on the edge of the table. Cursing loudly, he looks up in time to see Castiel standing by his chair, which is several inches from where it was a second ago.

"The hell?" Dean gets halfway up and promptly receives a chair to the hip as Castiel shoves it forward. "Ow!"

Sam stares round-eyed at Castiel but doesn't say a word. Dean glares; then, abruptly, recognition flashes on his face. "Cas. Have you been talking to Gabriel?"

Castiel's eyes dart to the side. "I have consulted him, yes."

Dean shoots a look at Sam, who shrugs. "I know what's going on now."

"You do?" Sam and Castiel are in perfect unison.

"Sure." Dean knocks the chair over, stands two feet from Castiel, and frowns hard into his face. "Cut it out. It's not a good look for you."

Sam verbally winces. Castiel's expression crumbles in that barely noticeable way, shifting from hopeful apathy to crushed apathy. "I apologize." And he's gone, leaving an undrunk beer that Dean's all too happy to pick up and swig from.

"Dude." Sam snags the bottle out of Dean's hand. "That was harsh."

"How was that harsh? That was doing him a favor." Robbed of Castiel's beer, Dean gulps down his own. "He'd make a lousy Trickster anyway."

"You call that doing him a--" Sam stops mid-sentence and backtracks. Dean can practically see the gears in his mind shifting into reverse. "Wait. A Trickster? What the--"

Dean blinks. "Well, isn't he? Trying to turn Cas into one? Dude, I know the guy. That'd be just like him. He probably thinks he can prank heaven if he teaches Cas how to practical joke."

Sam sits. His legs sprawl out forever from the chair. Dean has to be careful not to trip on them as he plunks down into his seat, thankful that this time the chair stays still. "You really think that's what Cas is doing?" Sam says. "Trying to prank you?"

"What would you call it?"

Sam tosses him a knowing grin. "Well, think about it a sec. What's he done to you, exactly?"

Dean holds up one hand and counts on his fingers. "Well, he showed up and randomly opened the car door. And then, in Oregon, he was, I don't know, putting his coat down, making me walk on it? Or something weird like that. I admit it's not funny, but..."

"And," Sam says levelly, "he pulled out the chair for you."

Dean stops. Blinks. Blinks again. "Wait."

Sam's smile says, _Wait for it....._

"I need to talk to Gabriel."

"He's not going to tell you anything."

"How do you know?"

Sam leans forward across the table."I _know._ " He puts his hand on Dean's. Just the hint of contact, but the instant connection is enough to remind Dean just how clear the lines of communication can become between Sam and Gabriel.

But luckily enough, that phone line works three ways. Dean will just find another way to ask him.

* * *

Dean's in the bathroom when Gabriel shows up behind him, watching the proceedings with a vaguely interested eye. Dean seizes up. "Dude, that's just gross."

"Says the guy who hacks and blowtorches his way through life," Gabriel says, looking away to preen, briefly, in the mirror. "I hear you wanted to see me."

Dean zips up and shoves him out of the way so he can wash his hands. "You've been talking to Cas."

"How's he doing so far?" Gabriel puts a hand on Dean's neck and winces. "Oh, that bad, huh?"

"What the hell have you been telling him? More importantly, what's he been telling _you?_ "

"Sorry, _compadre,_ " Gabriel says, leaning against the bathroom door. "My lips are sealed. Which isn't to say you couldn't unseal them, if you know how."

Dean dries his hands. "Which is why you showed up here instead of in the middle of the bar, when I actually said I needed to talk to you."

"Never say I don't respect your reputation, champ."

"Shut up." Dean whirls, still-damp hands pressing into the door on either side of Gabriel, and leans down to him. Their lips meet, and along with the usual fire, Dean can feel a memory skimming close to the surface. Like an envelope with his name on it. He runs his tongue along the seam of Gabriel's lips, parting them just barely, and the memory opens to him.

There's emotion there, emotion that isn't his or Gabriel's, and Dean's floored by it. He pulls back, trembling, breathing in heavy huffs. He feels as though someone has attached the final wire to a circuit in his brain, and he can finally think clearly. "Cas," he murmurs. "Cas is--"

"It shouldn't be such a surprise," Gabriel says, his voice husky and gentle. "The guy did raise you from hell, after all."

"Because he had to." Dean's still incredulous.

"But what about everything after?" Gabriel runs his thumb along one of Dean's shaking wrists. "What about rebelling, killing, dying over and over again? He didn't do any of that because he had to. He did it for you, Dean. He even said as much. Why's it such a surprise?"

Dean doesn't answer. He just leans against the wall and tries to catch his breath. Gabriel watches him a minute and then shrugs and vanishes.

* * *

He gets himself a separate motel room, as he often does when Sam and Gabriel want some we-time, but this time Sam nods at him not thankfully but encouragingly. It's good. Dean needs the support. This is going to take more guts than either Sam or Gabriel knows.

He sits alone on the big bed for several minutes, practicing speeches in his head, just thinking. His head is bowed and his hands are clasped between spread knees, but he's not praying. Not yet. He has to get it all straight in his head first. When he finally has the courage to call out "Cas" to the empty room, he's still not entirely sure what he's going to say. But he can't stall forever.

A rush of reality, and Castiel's there, standing in the corner of the room, a respectable distance from Dean. He says Dean's name and watches him circumspectly.

"Hi." Dean gives a half-hearted wave. "So."

"So."

Dean takes a breath. "So you suck at being a gentleman. That is what you were trying to do, right? Some kind of outdated, chivalrous crap?"

"Did Gabriel talk to you?" Cas looks a little disturbed, which in Cas terms translates to his eyebrows rising a half-millimeter from their previous position.

"Not in so many words. But I got the idea." Dean gets up, and for the first time his eyes lock with Castiel's. Oh God, here it comes, the rush of emotion that he's been keeping himself from feeling. It's fucking terrifying, but at least he's powerless now to stop himself from approaching. His inhibitions are his enemy in this.

Because Gabriel was right. It isn't so much a surprise that Castiel has feelings for him. The big surprise is that he feels the same way.

"Cas," he croaks, reaching out with one hand to loop around Castiel's wrist. "Why didn't you just say something?"

"I didn't know how." Castiel's voice has gone breathy. His eyes, huge and mind-bogglingly blue, search Dean's. "I've never felt something like this before. I wasn't sure what the correct thing to do was."

"Me neither," Dean says. "And I don't think anyone is, Cas-- we just--" His other hand rises to cup Castiel's jaw, and it feels like the only solid thing left in the universe. How many times has he opened his eyes and that jaw, that profile and those eyes were the things that reminded him he was still alive and on Earth? Too many to count. "We just have to figure it out."

"I know what you've been doing," Castiel says. "With your brother. And with Gabriel. It doesn't make any difference--"

"But this is different." Dean's lips brush Castiel's, a barely-there first kiss. "This is going to be different, Cas."

"I have no doubt," Castiel can barely get the words out.

Dean kisses him fully now, and it's just a kiss, just a physical exchange of emotion. That's a relief after everything he's learned to feel through contact. Right now, knowing too much, connecting too much would blast them both apart. Neither of them know how to handle this as it is. Add the next dimension and they'd be too overwhelmed to move.

It comes easier and easier as they go on, though, with Dean looping his arm around Castiel's waist and pulling him in. When their bodies meet, hot and yearning, they moan in unison. Dean's never heard something so beautiful as Castiel's soft intake of air a moment later. It's musical and telling, and Dean feels so much love for him in that moment that he thinks he might collapse in on himself. "Cas," he murmurs, "God, Cas. I didn't even know I wanted--" Too many words, not enough kisses, so he gives it up and just pulls Cas backward to the bed, falling down onto the mattress and reaching out his arms for an angel to fall into them.

Castiel is getting used to kissing him and holding him, and after he breaks off a kiss to smile at Dean (in Cas terms, a twitch of the corners of his mouth), he gives a low growl and dives into Dean's neck to run his lips and tongue in intense, intricate patterns. Dean's vision starts to white out. He flexes his fingers and forces them down past the waistband of those irritating straight-arrow pants Cas always wears. "Fuck, Cas," he pants, "get these damn things off."

Oh, it's good to have an angel for a lover. So good, and Dean thanks his lucky stars as he runs his hands over a suddenly exposed ass.

He cups Castiel's balls, makes the angel whine low into his neck and chest, and gives a low laugh of triumph that almost immediately is lost in a groan. Castiel's hands are hot on his chest and waist and hips, and his erection thrusts up against Dean's. Dean can't help but rut hard into the cavity between cock and thigh, sliding against Castiel's groin and his hip. Castiel is so hot, and every time their cocks meet in a soft slide, it's like going through fire. They gasp, they grind, they kiss because it's the only way they can adequately express how good it feels to be together, the way they were meant to be, after so much ignorance and denial.

When Castiel's hands come down to knead at his ass, shivers break out over Dean's body. He tingles, trembles, and grabs Castiel hard. He's starting to feel that opening up, the start of the connection that makes sex more than sex, and all at once he's terrified. He doesn't think he can handle what it'd be like to dive into Castiel's mind. If he goes too deep, he might lose himself, and he already feels lost. He scrambles up into a sitting position, pulls Castiel's hands free, and intertwines them lightly with his own.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice is troubled. He looks at Dean with expectation and anxiety fighting for supremacy in his gaze. "Did I..."

"No." Dean kisses him, a soft kiss that lingers. He wants to say _it's me, not you,_ but that's too cheesy for him to bear. "I just... I want you, Cas, really bad."

"I love you, Dean." The words come up bright and fast and urgent. Castiel blinks rapidly. Dean's never seen in him this much of a desire for acceptance. Usually Cas doesn't care what people think of him. He does what he needs to do. But he wants Dean to approve of him, and that scares Dean. If he is able to see that through Castiel's eyes, it will touch him more than he's ever allowed himself to be touched before. He can't. He can't allow that to happen. It's too profoundly scary.

"I know." Dean negotiates the two of them over, spreading Cas out over the bed. "I know you do. Cas... you're..." He groans. Cas will forgive him for not being able to answer his emotion, at least not out loud. Not yet. For now he can admit he wants him. That's something.

When Dean kisses him again, runs his hands over him, the deeper connection fades and it's finally all about love again, all about physical desire. He breathes heavily and allows Cas to rut up against him. "Oh, yeah," he murmurs. "Oh, yeah."

His hands grab Castiel's hips. "Want to fuck you, Cas," he whispers. And it's a relief how much he just wants that, the physical contact. He doesn't need this to turn into more than that. And Cas, bless him, seems plenty OK with whatever Dean's willing to give. The angel beneath him nods vigorously, pulls at his arms and chest and whispers affirmations.

Castiel is endlessly patient, not only through the rigmarole of getting ready and the litany of _are you OK?_ questions that Dean can't seem to stop lobbing at him, but also through Dean's own paranoia. Dean can see the question and the confusion in his eyes, knows the turnaround was unexpected, but he's not going to bring it up now. Not when this is still so new and so needed.

Dean sees white stars flash before his eyes when he enters Castiel, and the groan he gives is thick with agony and pleasure. Dear sweet God Cas is tight, and Cas' body is _warm_ so warm, and below him Cas' arms are spread, his fingers clutch the sheets, and he's beyond beautiful. Dean pushes forward, watches how the motion ripples its way up Cas' body-- his arms tightening, his brow furrowing-- and is struck with a feeling of utter belonging. This is what Sam and Gabriel have that he was jealous of. He's had it too, this whole time, and he didn't know it.

His mouth comes down to seal over Castiel's as he ruts ever faster and harder up into him. Castiel's back arches and he cranes upward to meet Dean in a pose that would be impossible to maintain in a normal human, but Cas hovers there, curled off the bed and wrapped around Dean legs and arms and lips. Dean's hands clutch into Castiel's hair, tugging lightly as he ravishes the mouth beneath his. His hips are moving in fast hot little spurts. He won't last, dear God he won't last, Cas feels and looks too good beneath him.

Maybe the panic shows on his face, because Castiel slides his lips up along Dean's cheek and whispers in his ear, "Come on, Dean. Don't hold back." The words bite. They're a challenge. Dean is right on the edge, and he's been taunted over it before but never like this, never in a way that he actually couldn't resist. It's always his choice, but he isn't choosing any of this. He's coming at Castiel's command, pleasure washing through him in a bright flash, because he can't resist. Oh, God, it's so scary. But Castiel catches him, holds him up, as Dean shouts and collapses forward, and he doesn't say anything about the way Dean clings to him, the way his heart is racing. Instead, he just lets Dean calm down, holding him tight until Dean has enough strength to lift his head.

He's afraid to meet Castiel's eyes. But he forces himself. "That was intense," he says, voice breaking.

"Dean." Castiel kisses him and rolls up against him so Dean can feel how hard he still is. At once he feels like a heel. He was so wrapped up in his own fears there for a moment, he had forgotten to consider Cas' pleasure. What a jerk. And again he's so glad he's been able to keep this sex just sex. He'd be so scared of showing Castiel all the things he's feeling right now.

He slides out, his dick oversensitive and throbbing in the wake of his climax, and pulls Castiel close, kissing him softly and lazily as he lies back onto the sheets. Castiel whimpers into the kisses, trying to push his body up against Dean's, but Dean holds him back and takes hold of his cock with a steady hand. This he can do, this is in his control. He whispers small endearments into Castiel's mouth and strokes him through his own climax, which comes soon and quietly. Castiel gives a small cry, shuts his eyes tight, and lets his body erupt into shudders. Dean catches him, plants small kisses all over his jaw, and feels a little more in control for his ability to take it away from someone else.

They huddle together there on the bed for a long time, just breathing each other in and getting used to the newness that is their intimacy. But Dean's troubled. He can't help feeling guilty for holding himself back, for not giving Castiel all of what he knows he could. And at the same time, he feels like he's given too much. It doesn't make any sense to him. He has no problem communicating with Sam, or even with Gabriel. It should be just as easy, or easier, to make that connection to the man (angel, whatever) he's just realized he loves. But for whatever reason, the idea scares the hell out of him. What is wrong with him?


	3. Heavy Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The proud few who stopped the apocalypse have a bond too deep for words. They need another form of communication._

  
For the first time in the history of ever, the Winchesters are getting separate motel rooms on a regular basis.

Not that it much matters, considering they aren't exactly using their own money. But after sharing crappy motel rooms with each other for five years, they're suddenly sharing crappy motel rooms with a pair of angels, and no matter how happy and madly-in-love they both are, that changes things. It changes things in a big way.

For one thing, they're now going drinking together again. Because they don't chat while shaving and after lights-out (all two hours of it), they go somewhere angels generally fear to tread: bars. Dean's happy about it; it's been a long time coming, and it feels normal and natural. But it's the old kind of normal, and it doesn't approach the kind of communication they know they can achieve together.

But that's a good thing, he reminds himself. He hasn't slept with Sam or Gabriel since he and Castiel started their relationship, partly because it would feel like cheating, partly because the sex with Cas is damn good, but mostly because he's scared. He doesn't want to open that line of communication again. As much as he misses it. It just feels too dangerous.

"So how are things with Cas?" Sam asks, casually, and Dean nearly chokes on his beer. Maybe Sam can still read his mind.

"Fine. Awesome. Really, really awesome." He takes another swig, and his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

"You, uh, you tell him about--" Sam wiggles his finger between the two of them.

"Yeah. He's--" Every word feels like it's going to bring the beer back up with it. "He's cool with it."

Sam leans over and touches Dean's hand. "Then how come you haven't come over?"

Dean looks around for a place to hide, a monster to attack, anything to get him out of this place and this question. "I, uh--"

"Never mind." Sam's eyes are mournful. "I didn't realize it'd make you feel so uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? Nah, I'm not uncomfortable." Says the guy who's alternately shifting in his seat, fidgeting with his beer bottle and scratching the back of his neck.

"Right. Just-- you're still invited, OK? I kind of... we kind of miss you."

Dean lowers his eyes. He misses them too, but it's just so much more complicated now. He doesn't want to lose Cas. But more than that, he doesn't want to lose himself.

"Dean?" Sam frowns. "Did something happen?"

The silence in itself is confirmation of that. Sam puts a friendly hand on Dean's shoulder. "Just tell me."

"I don't even know where to start, man."

Sam smiles. "Start where it begins."

* * *

 _Where it begins is Dean slammed against the wall, Castiel's fingers pulling at his sleeves, sliding up underneath them. Castiel's mouth slides along Dean's jaw, crushes his lips in a scathing show of ownership. Dean whimpers, and his hands come up to clutch at Castiel's shoulders, his neck, anything he can get a handhold on. They're so in love with each other, they're so boiling over with need, and they might not last all the way to the bed, the way they strip off clothing and stretch anxious palms and eager lips over each other's skin._

 _Then Dean reaches for the wallet of condoms and Castiel stops his hand._

 _"No," he growls. "My turn."_

 _He tries to seal it with a kiss, but Dean pulls away. "I can't."_

 _"Dean." A groan. "I need you."_

 _"Then open up for me." Dean tries to seduce him, licking soft tantalizing strokes into his mouth, but Castiel's mind is full of questions and that's enough to bring everything to a grinding halt._

* * *

Sam and Dean aren't the only pair of brothers having some trouble re-establishing connections. Gabriel's been out of the picture for thousands of years now, and all of a sudden not only is he involved, he's _involved._ Castiel is not at all sure how to handle that. He's been used to being the only angel in the Winchesters' lives. He doesn't know whether Gabriel's trying to make him feel redundant, or muscle in on his territory, or show him how it's done. That would be a laugh, Gabriel trying to school him in being angelic. Then again, irony has seemed to be the name of the game for a long time now.

Castiel's taken to frequenting playgrounds, public parks -- anywhere he can feel a little more connected to the rest of creation, a little less like a fish out of water. When he sits and watches children, he sees souls still pure. And he remembers a time, a conversation in the middle of a wider war, when he first felt truly close to Dean. Now they're closer than ever, but something vital is missing. Something Dean is keeping locked up in that proud chest of his, and Castiel doesn't know how to get at it.

  
"How's it hanging?" Gabriel announces his presence with a fist to the crown of Castiel's head. Castiel winces, rubbing the bruised bit of flesh. It's better again in a moment, but his ego isn't, and he tilts his head upward to glare. Gabriel ignores the look. "I see my advice worked out."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Aw, what's the matter? Trouble in Paradise? Or whatever you want to call it."

"No."

"Come on. That's your frustrated face."

Castiel gives a soft sigh. "You don't know my frustrated face. You barely know my face at all."

"I think you're the one who doesn't recognize you right now." Gabriel sits down beside him. "I'm right. Come on, Cas. It might have taken me a little longer than most, but I got in the game. I'm playing on your team, remember? Talk to me."

Castiel hesitates, and then he looks up. "You are right. I do feel frustrated." His hand rises to cover his heart briefly. "Is it possible to be happy and frustrated at the same time?"

"Is it possible? It's what the entire movie industry is based on."

"That isn't comforting."

"It isn't exactly meant to be. Sometimes you can have what you want and still want some more. That's what happened, isn't it?" Gabriel plants his face in his cupped hands and tilts his head toward Castiel. "What did you want that he couldn't give you?"

* * *

 _"I want us to be equals," he says. "I want to feel what you do, Dean. It's not fair."_

 _"Look, I just don't want to do that, OK?" Dean gets up, running his hand through sweaty hair, and paces the length of the room. "I'm not comfortable with it."_

 _"You were comfortable when it was Sam," Castiel says quietly. Dean looks over his shoulder, guilt plastered on his face. "How do you think that makes me feel? Think about it." Because Castiel is thinking about it, and now that he really concentrates on it, it's more than frustrating. It's infuriating._

 _Dean sighs. "Cas, I can't explain it. It's just... it's different with you. I can't be with you the same way I was with them. It's not the same thing."_

 _Castiel looks at him a long time with mournful eyes. He rises and retrieves his shirt from the floor, slinging it around his shoulders. With his back still to Dean, he says, just loud enough to be heard, "I see. You don't feel the same way."_

 _Dean starts. "Cas, it's not like that. I just--"_

 _"I gave everything for you." Castiel doesn't shout, but the hardness in his voice is worse than if it were raised. "I gave everything for you because I loved you, and you cannot even trust me enough for this. Don't tell me it's not like that, because I can't think of anything else it could possibly be."_

 _"Cas--"_

 _"Enough. I thought I knew you, Dean. Maybe I was mistaken."_

 _He teleports away, ends up in the middle of nowhere-- a desert at night-- and shouts into the sky until he's hoarse. He knows Dean loves him. This shouldn't hurt as much as it does. And he shouldn't feel just as far away from Dean in that motel room as he does right now._

* * *

"Ouch."

"I know, right? Right?"

"Actually, that ouch was for Cas. Poor guy must be so confused."

"Wait. You're taking his side?"

"It's not about sides, Dean. I mean, you're not fighting with him over something. You guys just have a-- a disconnect."

"Maybe. But how do I get past it? I mean, I love the guy, but... it freaks me out."

"Maybe you ought to tell him that."

* * *

"I did tell him."

"But did you listen to the answer? Really? I mean, maybe the reason he has a problem with it is that he cares too much, not too little."

"I don't understand."  
"And I can't explain it to you. He needs to do that. And you need to listen."

* * *

Dean enters the motel room. He yawns, he wanders to the bathroom, he takes a leak and he tries to prepare himself for Castiel being there when he comes back out. Looking in the mirror, he mumbles a few key phrases in a low tone, steels himself, and heads for the door.

It still makes him jump a little when Cas is suddenly there. It still feels weird to have an empty room not empty anymore.

They stare each other down for a few tense seconds. Each waiting for the other to say, _We need to talk._

Dean sits down on the bed. When Castiel reluctantly comes to sit next to him, Dean takes his hand and holds it loosely. The fingers intertwining with his look and feel like something fragile and perfect. Something he doesn't want to let go of but is afraid he might crush.

"So, um--" he starts. His sentence loses steam there, and he starts again. "Here's the thing. What I've been doing. With Sam. And with Gabriel. It really is different."

"I know." Castiel starts, and then his hand tightens in Dean's, and he cuts himself off. "I'm sorry," he adds quickly. "I'm listening."

Dean can feel at once how carefully Castiel is holding himself back. He has to see this through, has to make good on it. Sam made him promise as much. "It's not about sex," he says. "It's a way of, I don't know. Connecting. We can read each other's minds, we can understand each other. After he came back from hell, it was so hard to talk to him, and now we feel right again. It's like when we're touching, we're on the same level."

Castiel bites back another word.

"But when I'm with you, it's because I want to be with you. I like your body, I want to touch you. It's not just some way to open up. It's about you and me, it's about sex. And-- love, even." His voice chokes on the word. "I feel like, as long as I'm the one... in control... I can keep them separate."

"Dean." The name bursts from Castiel's lips. "Understand. How do you think it makes me feel? That they get to see a part of you I don't?"

"That's why I haven't gone back there."

"That doesn't matter to me. I want to know you. I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you!" Dean squeezes his hand. "I trust you, Cas. It's me I don't trust." He swallows hard. "What if-- what if you see something you didn't know about, and what if when you're in my memories you find out something-- or what if you show me something I'm not supposed to know, and I can't handle it?" His eyes meet Castiel's, and he's blinking rapidly, panicked. "I don't think I can lose you, Cas. Sam's family, and Gabriel's... well, he's _Gabriel_ , but you, I mean, you're so different. I've never been in love like this before, and--"

Arms around his shoulders quiet him. Castiel holds him firm and fierce, his embrace loving, and Dean finds himself choking, taking shuddering breaths. The heat of Castiel's face near his own makes it hard for Dean to breathe.

"Then _trust_ me," Castiel whispers into his ear.

Dean nods. Very slowly. "All right," he forces himself to say. "All right."

They kiss briefly. Dean opens the door to his mind.

 _Love. So much love. The kind of love that endures, the kind of love that won't be broken. That's all there is. That's all he can see in Castiel's mind--_

Dean blinks. His mouth, soft and pink and damp, hangs just slightly open. His eyes are shimmering.

"Dean." Castiel's fingers press into Dean's neck. His gaze is constant, determined. Dean can't think of any words to say, so he lets Castiel kiss him again.

 _He sees his own face, blood spattered over his cheeks. His body, rippling with exertion. He hears the cries of a soul in agony beneath him, and he hears the agonized cry of his own soul. And then he sees fingers close over his arm, and the fulcrum of the universe shifts._

Castiel cups his face, leans forward to loom over him. Dean's chin tilts upward. He's being led on a journey, his own journey told through Castiel's eyes. Gentle guiding kisses propel him onward, and steady hands steer him as Castiel backs him onto the bed, both seducing him and supporting him, never letting him fall.

 _There is an angel further back in his memories now. One who stood by when the hellhounds were nigh, watching, waiting. Knowing that this tragedy would lead to their meeting. Dean cannot look back in horror at a death like that. Not now that he knows, too. Before, he would have asked, if there are angels, why didn’t they intervene? Now he knows the answer._

Dean sits back against the headboard, and Castiel crawls between his knees, inching his legs apart. Castiel's moves are almost predatory, and Dean should feel hunted. But he's arching up almost immediately into the kisses that Castiel presses to his open mouth, and he gasps when Castiel's hands slide in one movement down to his wrists and cinch there. Maybe that's because of the way he can feel Castiel's presence within his mind, soothing and accepting his memories one by one. Maybe it's because he's wanted this so damn much and now he can admit it.

 _Further back, far into his childhood, when he's alone and frightened and trying his best to fulfill his duty as substitute man of the house while Dad hunts. He does the right thing, though it's not what he wants to do, and an angel outside says quietly, "Yes. This is the Righteous Man."_

Their lips and bodies part. Briefly. Dean can't breathe. Castiel is having a much easier time of it. He growls, breathy and hot into Dean's lips. "Take your shirt off."

Dean complies, lifting his T-shirt over his head. Castiel is staring at him the whole time, eyes silently demanding. But his hand opens over Dean's heart, and the connection sustains them -- it spurs in Dean's heart a wealth of love and tenderness that inspires him to lean forward, once he's bare-chested, and start undoing Castiel's buttons. Castiel starts. Dean whispers, "Let me, OK?" and continues with the long, quiet, fumbling process of it. He can feel Castiel's breath speed up and smiles, knowing that waiting in this way is irritating to a creature who is usually more than happy to blink away his clothes. But Dean is determined to make this worth it. So he leans in just after easing the shirt down and presses his lips to Castiel’s' bare shoulder. "Love you," he murmurs, soft enough to deny.

Castiel is not patient. He grabs Dean's face and wrenches it upward to take his lips. His kiss is insistent, but it's not hard or demanding. He wants more of the connection, more of the brand-new communication, but he is patient, ever aware of Dean's fear.

 _To a memory Dean doesn't hold, a memory Castiel gives him. His mother, round and full and happy, discovering a trinket at a yard sale. Patting her belly, loving her unborn son. "Angels are watching over you," she promises. An angel is._

But those fears are quickly fading now, and Dean draws himself upright and clasps Castiel in his arms, bare chest to bare chest, letting their minds and lips meld together. For the first time, he feels completely open, completely willing. And he dives into the open pool of Castiel's memory.

 _He's adrift in years that fly by like minutes, that mean nothing because they are part of eternity. The world spins, generations are born and die, but he is eternal, unmoving, unchanging like the sky. But even stars shift in time. Castiel does not. He has no reason to change. He is more constant than stone, and harder to mold than diamond. If time has any meaning, it is to take him closer to his time of action. To the one he is destined to shape, to mold to fit his purpose. The waiting aches. Before knowing Dean, he is already lonely for him._

Castiel lays reverent starpoints of kisses down his arm, bends to kiss his stomach, eases off Dean's jeans with hasty fingers. Dean feels each one, its scramble over his skin, and he only wishes he could do more to help. He can't. He's just gasping and arching, his head tipping back, his hips rising off the bed to allow more of Castiel's hot grip. "Oh, God," he mumbles, "Cas, please, please, please." The pleas from his own lips scare him, but he's determined to see this through. Castiel won't let him fall into nothing.

 _He expects his charge to be skeptical. He expects to have to do some convincing. To show the Righteous Man the path, to guide him to choose it willingly. Castiel is aware that morals can be questioned, although he's never felt the need to question them himself. Every angel is equipped to handle the questions of doubting humans in their charge. What they are not equipped to handle is feeling their own morals bend. They're not supposed to change their minds. Why would they be prepared to face it? And then there's Dean, and Castiel has to._

Their eyes meet and Dean can see something brand-new in Castiel's eyes. No, he's seen it before, but he never knew what it was. It's reverence. It's respect. Castiel respects him. Why this should come as a revelation Dean doesn't know, but it does, and it makes Dean shiver and clutch at Cas' shoulders. "Kiss me," he whispers. Castiel does, and it feels like their first kiss as equals.

 _An eternity, and every prophecy ever written has come to pass. An eternity, and all the structures of fate have ever been standing, clear as bright lines against time. Justice is always triumphant. Hell comes to the wicked. Heaven waits for the righteous. And the Creator's will is done. These things do not change. They cannot change. No matter how humans try to struggle against their destiny, it always happens just the way they have been trying to avoid. But Dean makes Castiel want to change what has never in history been changed._

 _And they're successful. They do it. They turn the page on millennia of history. The new world they uncover is full of possibility, and they stand on the brink of it together._

"Cas." Dean's gasps slow to deep, gulping breaths. "I-- I never thought."

He's lying flat on his back, and Castiel's between his legs, his cock gently bobbing against Dean's stomach. The angel's lips are inches from his, but Dean isn't thinking about closing the gap. He's too stunned by what he's seen, too happy.

"That's what you gave me," Castiel says, and his voice is low and even, like gravity. "You gave me that much, Dean. How can I not love you? How can I not want to give you everything in return?"

Dean's not sure there aren't tears in his eyes. "Cas," he whispers. "I want--"

"What do you want?"

Castiel's cock slides down against his, presses gently against his balls. The contact, the weight of it, makes Dean lose it and shout aloud. "Yes!" He sucks air in through gritted teeth. "Fuck, Cas, please--"

No answer, just the press of lips to his, then to his chin, then to his throat. Castiel's breath gentle against his skin. Patient, endlessly patient. Like he's been since the beginning of time.

Castiel is _still_ waiting for him.

Dean's eyes open. He speaks the words like they're a prayer. "Please fuck me, Cas." His hands tangle in Castiel's hair. "I want you to. I just want you."

There's silence, then-- not sound, but the feel of a smile against his skin. It's enough.

When Cas' fingers slide down and back, begin to tease at his hole, he opens reflexively to them. When they dip inside him, it feels like a gift. Not an invasion. Not an intrusion. An offering. Castiel's fingers open his body and his mind wide, and Dean groans in bliss, the heat slamming into him with each gentle thrust. He's immersed in Castiel's emotion, in his reverence and his patience and his joy at finally being fulfilled. It's just like the communication he's found with Sam, but there's extra in it, there's love, and it's the best feeling Dean could possibly imagine. "Now," he whines thinly into the scant air left in the room. "Now."

Hands slide over him, up his chest, along his neck, and cup his jawline. Molding him. And then Castiel thrusts into him, and Dean presses upward into the touch. Castiel's lips come down to meet his. And for one moment they just stay like that, joined. One.

Castiel's inside him and all around him. Dean's hands move frantically but they can't wrap fast enough around Castiel's back, his neck, everywhere that's him. He feels surrounded and filled. Castiel is the outside and the inside. He's in Cas and Cas is in him. It's perfect and he needs more.

Hard hands clench against his thighs, pull him farther and tighter. Castiel has waited for this forever, for too long, and Dean can tell from the feel of him, from the balls tight against his ass, that he's close already. He sees no reason to hold back. There's nothing to be slow or deliberate about. Sometimes it's about the process but right now it's just about getting here.

He hangs on to Cas, like he always has, and lets himself go.

* * *

Castiel kisses him, slow and soft and sweet, then presses another kiss to his temple. They're sweaty and lazy, lying in the dark, naked, blissful. The sheets are cool against the warm tangle of their bodies. Dean's so full of light and relief that he thinks he might be half angel now.

But he hasn't lost himself. Because now, Castiel is half him.

"Thank you." Breath against his cheek. "For trusting me."

Dean turns to face him. In the dark, Castiel's eyes aren't blue but very nearly black. He sees his own face reflected, silver to gray, and he sees the reflection of his hand moving forward to cup Castiel's cheek, slide through his hair. And though it's not something he'd ever think to say before, it's all him when he says it.

"I'm glad I did."


	4. Heavy Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The proud few who stopped the apocalypse have a bond too deep for words. They need another form of communication._

  
So the story so far is this: Winchesters feel disconnected. Winchesters connect. Winchesters find their respective angels. Winchesters connect with them. Everyone is paired off and happy and in love and having heavy-duty nookie complete with psychic connections, and all is well.

Except for not really. Not completely. The other shoe hasn't dropped yet, has it? You know. That big one. Where the brothers remember that brother-fucking isn't the sort of thing you can do a few times and then forget about because you have a new hot boyfriend. It doesn't work that way.

Especially not when there are priest's costumes lying about.

Now, the brothers in question are in fact not the Winchesters at this point. The Winchesters are wearing their standard FBI/CDC/OMGWTFBBQ outfits, off actually doing a case, because they still do more than fuck, believe it or not. And if you're sensing a bit of a mood shift in this chapter, that's because the mood's about to shift big-time.

And about damn time, too.

* * *

Gabriel has always found the Church hilarious. It's not a lack of respect for what the institution is supposed to represent. And he loves the art, even if some of it is truly weird in how it depicts them. (Though the cherubs, he has to admit, are much more accurate than the rest.) But certain other aspects are just damn funny. For example, the idea that you can be absolved of sin by stepping into a box with a creepy dude in a high collar and be told to say a certain prayer seven times. And what's up with the collars anyway? He never bothered to learn the reason behind it. To him it's sort of a "Vampires: Please Bite Here" sign.

But. Sam in a priest's outfit? Yes, please. Dean and Sam both in priest's outfits? The thought makes Gabriel sort of want to dance around like an idiot. Never mind the sex appeal, the sheer irony there is too hilarious for words. And yet since they've come back, those outfits have just sat in the bottom of the trunk, unused, very, very sad, like last year's Halloween costume. Gabriel thinks it's a shame.

So he sends out a fake distress call to Castiel, the only other angel he knows who could find any hilarity in this whatsoever, and upon his arrival Gabriel slings Sam's decidedly oversized priest's frock over his shoulders.

"This was your emergency?" Castiel is scowling at him. That seems to be Castiel's default expression.

"As a matter of fact, it is. I feel the need to confess my sins." Gabriel's put Dean's frock on, and he's sprawled out over the back of the car, head hanging down over the rear bumper, like he's his very own version of the _Pieta._ Every so often, passersby look over and worry that someone has murdered a man of the cloth, but then Gabriel twitches and giggles, and they decide it's just a frat prank after all.

A year ago Castiel would have made an annoyed noise and disappeared again. Hell, he might have done that a week ago. But now the hint of a smile touches his mouth. "There isn't enough time in the world for you to do that successfully."

"Ooh, zing!" Gabriel's upside-down head lolls from side to side. "Damn, but sleeping with Dean Winchester's been good for your attitude. I approve, brother, I most definitely approve."

"Hmph." Castiel sits on the trunk of the car next to him. "You're an easy target."

"Tru 'dat." Gabriel rolls over, now on his stomach, and scoots to curl around Castiel, legs hanging off to the side as he tilts his head up toward his brother. "So did you work out your issues?"

In answer, Castiel brings his hand down to touch his brother's cheek. The rest of the world darkens and for a moment there is just that living, breathing connection between the two of them.

Gabriel smiles against his palm. "Good."

The possibility flies through both of their heads, then, and it makes Castiel gasp and Gabriel grin. They're still connected, through that simple contact, and most of their reaction happens beneath the surface. Castiel borrows Gabriel's humor; Gabriel pulls some of Castiel's patience. And outside, they smile at each other.

"I suppose someone needs to hear your sins," Castiel says.

* * *

They end up back at the motel, in Sam and Gabriel's room, and as Castiel changes (in the bathroom, and without any angel magic or mojo, simply for the experience), Gabriel leans on the door. "Hey, this is kind of a confessional right here," he calls. "Forgive me, brother, for I have sinned. And forgive you, because you're dying to hear how."

Castiel makes a noncommittal grunt through a layer of fabric. Sam's frock is surprisingly large. He's a little afraid he's going to get lost in it.

"Where should I start?" Gabriel cocks his hip and leans against the doorframe. "Let's skip the boring part. You already know about all of that. Rooting for the Apocalypse, not giving people the credit they deserve... et cetera, ad nauseum. Water under the bridge, am I right? Of course I'm right. No, the most interesting bit of it is that I've been sleeping with your boyfriend."

Sudden, complete silence from the other side of the door. Gabriel worries, just for a second. But then Castiel says, low and even, "That is a very serious sin. I need to hear more if I am to determine your penance."

His voice sends shudders through Gabriel. Not just the tone of it, all panther-growl sexy, but the words. Castiel's asking for details. Who knew he had such a voyeuristic, scandalous side to him? Gabriel figures he has Dean to thank for that. "Are you sure you want to hear that?" he says, softly and half-seriously (only half, thought -- this is still Gabriel.)

The door opens.

"I'm sure," Castiel says. Gabriel very nearly stumbles.

Castiel looks like darkness and justice in that frock. He's upright, sleek, with a tight-lipped mouth and severe dark eyes. Gabriel's never looked at Castiel this way before, and maybe it is partly the vessel, but he can feel Castiel's severity and it is way more of a turn-on than he ever expected. He steps backward, tries to compose himself, suddenly having trouble containing his reaction.

"Wow," he says, wiping away a bit of sweat that's beaded on his forehead. "Aren't you a tall drink of holy water."

Gabriel figures Castiel will frown, say something humorless and stiff, like _I don't understand that idiom,_ but Gabriel needs to get with the program because Castiel does no such thing. His face doesn't even twitch. "This isn't about me," is all he says.

Now Gabriel's had plenty of centuries' worth of stiff-necked, humorless angels, but this is new. He's never had it look this good before. His hands start to twitch, and that ages-old impulse to push boundaries finally feels like it's going to bear some fruit besides getting his ass cursed out. His grin snaking across his face, he walks right up until his body is brushing Castiel's, and he inhales the radiant heat, savoring it, before beginning to whisper.

"You're right. It's not about you. It's about me, and it's about Dean. You want to know what I did to him, don't you? You're dying to hear how I fucked him good and hard."

He leans closer in to Castiel's jaw, can feel the rasp of stubble against his skin. It makes him shudder, just a little. Truth is, they're both trembling with the possibility. "He felt so good under me, Castiel. You know the way he moves. The way he squirms, how smooth his thighs are. The way he gasps--" and Gabriel does a stunningly good imitation. Castiel's body flinches with the impact of the sound, like Gabriel struck him. It's a good reaction. Gabriel has to pull back to see Castiel's face.

It's bright red. Castiel's sweating. A second more and he's going to try to loosen his collar. But the moment he meets Gabriel's eyes, his expression hardens. "You don't feel any remorse," he says. A statement of fact. Gabriel wonders if he's gone too far, if there is a jealous streak in Castiel.

But Gabriel really does need to get with the program after all.

"Would you like me to punish you?" Castiel says.

And suddenly it's blazingly evident that this has _all_ been foreplay.

"Why, Castiel," he manages, though breath is stunningly hard to come by. "I do believe you're trying to seduce me."

Castiel's hand wraps around his wrist. "Let he who is without sin," he murmurs, "cast the first stone."

As Gabriel is yanked in toward him, he thinks wildly, _this was meant to happen._

The thought resonates as soon as Castiel's mouth devours his, as soon as Gabriel frees his hand to pull on Castiel's collar, slamming their bodies together. This was meant to happen. He's flying through Castiel's consciousness now, and Castiel through his. As their bodies suck and press and cleave, Gabriel realizes that without him Castiel would never have thought to run from heaven; that without Castiel Gabriel would never have considered it possible to change his mind. They built each other up, they gave each other freedom, and if this need has been in the background for so long it now comes forward with a rush and intensity that has been building ever since they took their chosen paths away from obedience and toward free will.

Castiel backs up toward the bed, pulls Gabriel with him, and Gabriel gasps as he falls forward onto Cas because he is now fucking Dean through Castiel's eyes, he's experiencing what they've done together, the heights they've reached as two people in love and in lust, through the open conduit of Cas' thoughts. Gabriel has been well and truly duped. He thought he was teasing Castiel with details about his and Dean's encounters? Castiel is now teasing him twice as well. Fire and envy and excitement stir up his blood, and his hands grab the hem of that priest's frock and hike it up so he can run his hands over Castiel's torso, so he can get some revenge for those wicked, teasing images.

His head's down and he's licking one of Castiel's nipples, and Castiel's moaning loud and good, and that's how come neither of them hear the door open.

Sam and Dean are twin open mouths and blank stares for a good five seconds before Gabriel has the temerity to turn and look toward the door. Castiel's head turns abruptly, and he goes red again. Now there are four frozen stares in the room.

"Well." Sam's the one who manages to break the silence. "I didn't see _this_ coming."

"Me neither," says Dean, and the words barely make it out of his throat.

Gabriel nuzzles Cas' chest, pulls his shirt back down, and sits up. "Hey, guys!" he shouts. "I was just confessing my sins."

Castiel takes it less well. "Dean, I..." he starts, scowling hard.

"If you apologize, I'm gonna deck you."

Dean's voice is small, but his eyes are hungrily taking in the scene. Castiel and Gabriel, in Sam's motel room. Castiel with Sam's too-big frock hanging off his shoulders. Gabriel looking like the wickedest priest ever to have an interest in fully grown men. Crawling all over each other, filling out the fourth wall of this bizarre love square, right here before his eyes. It's incestuous and bizarre and just plain awesome.

He grabs Sam's hand, and they look at each other. Then he strides forward, pulling Sam with him, and touches Castiel's shoulder.

 _We all four of us have been where no one else has been, we've done what no one else in the universe could ever do. We love each other and we're brothers and lovers and we communicate in a way no one can ever comprehend. This is our way._

The final walls break down. Four hearts slide into perfect alignment. And Dean grins at Cas and says, "Suddenly I'm feeling pretty damn sinful, too."

Castiel's eyes meet his. Then dart up to Sam's, and in return Sam leans down and kisses Castiel's mouth softly. Now they've touched in every combination, and now the ritual is over. They've decided what to do. Now they can just do it.

Dean slides in behind Castiel, parting his legs to let the angel lean backward onto his chest. He mouths up and down Cas' neck, murmuring, as the two of them watch Sam and Gabriel sink down in front of them. Sam's mouth is predatory on Gabriel's, and they're both grunting like animals. Castiel says an unholy word very, very softly, and Dean chuckles in return. His hand comes to slide down the front of Cas' pants and massage him through his clothes as they watch the show.

"You make a lousy priest," Sam is telling Gabriel, laughing and pulling at the priest costume. Dean winces as he hears the sound of fabric ripping, but he can always fix it later. Way hotter to see the shirt fly off and across the room in one powerful swing of Sam's arm. And then to see Gabriel arch as Sam lavishes kisses down his sternum -- yeah, that's definitely worth a torn hem.

Castiel leans forward in Dean's arms, rubs a hand on one of Sam's calves, encouraging him. Sam turns, looking like a predator caught at feeding, and locks eyes with Cas. Dean's rooting for them to kiss again, whispering it silently in his mind, but Sam turns his attention back to Gabriel and begins torturing him with every kind of touch and caress known to man. Gabriel arches up, mashing his cock into the solid mass of Sam's belly, and makes a wanton sound. Castiel bucks up against Dean's steady hand at the sound of it, finally breaking free and rolling forward so he can kiss and lick at Gabriel's ear, run a hand over Sam's ass and encourage the two of them.

He's on his hands and knees now, and he looks so goddamn ravishable in the baggy black pants that Dean has half a mind to just spear him right there. Clothes that big on someone ought not to look good on them, but Cas does seem to have an unearthly power to look good in anything. Or, of course, in nothing, which is what Dean aims for, forcing Castiel to lift one leg, then the next, until he's bare from the waist down. Between him and Gabriel, there is exactly one priest's outfit being worn in this room now.

In comparison, the bulky shirts and ties Dean and Sam are wearing are starting to feel downright constricting. Dean meets Sam's eyes and then both back off for a moment, busying themselves with getting naked. Gabriel gives a whimper at the sudden lack of Samhands and Sammouth everywhere, but he grabs Castiel and kisses him gently, lazily, while the other half of the room gets naked. Gabriel wiggles out of his pants a minute later, but Castiel keeps his frock on. A few seconds of connection and everyone agrees it's just too hot to lose.

The connection is still going, throughout all of this. With every touch, every fumble and caress, they're diving into each other's emotions. There isn't so much of a glimpse into long-held memories this time, not so deep of a spiritual bond that they're gasping with the intensity of it. There's time for that, they've learned how to do it. What's novel about this encounter is that it's fun.

Fun for Gabriel to growl and reach for Dean's balls, for Dean to pretend to panic and fight his way up the bed like a salmon flopping on a shore, as Sam laughs and Castiel busies himself learning the contours of Sam's body, one he's never touched before. Fun when Sam's laugh turns into a groan when Castiel grasps him, and for both Gabriel and Dean to stop their horseplay and take in twin breaths at the sound of it.

Damn fun for Sam to lie out across the bed, arms and legs spread, and for the rest of them to crawl over him, like a pack of animals, nipping and kissing and sucking at every inch of his expanse of skin. For Dean to feel Sam's hand come up to clutch at his neck, drag into his hairline; for Gabriel to whisper scandalous, wonderful things into his ear; for Castiel to wrap his angel-hot lips around the head of Sam's cock and feel the power of the big hips rocking up beneath him. He gives a shout of surprise, then locks himself tight around one of Sam's legs and rides it.

Fun to trade kisses, mouths moving against each other,switching partners every few seconds, all four of them breathing raggedly in the small space. Fun for Gabriel to lube them all up, one by one, with a choice salacious comment for each. Fun for Castiel to be the one to return the favor, with a gasp of surprise when he feels Gabriel clench against his fingers for the first time. And fun for him to turn to Dean, smile just slightly, and say, "He's all yours."

Yeah, it's fun. But that's not all it is. By the end of it Sam knows what it is to turn from heaven; Castiel knows how it feels to be a monster. By the end of it Dean's been a Trickster for a thousand years, and Gabriel's spent forty years in hell. They're still separate people, but they're joined, they share, and they meld just a little bit with each whisper and caress and groan and thrust. The four who derailed the end of the world. Each one both a hero and an outcast, each surrounded by brothers but still alone. Just... a little bit less so, now.

It's damn near perfect. But there are drawbacks. The biggest one being that it has to end at all. But close to that is that when Gabriel arches and comes, then flops backward onto Sam's heaving chest, they're both so sweaty and hot that all the love in the world isn't gonna keep them there plastered to each other's bodies. Groaning, Gabriel rolls over, nearly crunching Dean, who was winded two orgasms ago and has been watching the games while trading wet, soft kisses with Sam. That is, until he ended up with archangel elbow in his ribs. He hollers and kicks hard, not dislodging Gabriel but getting Cas right in the ass.

"That's it," Gabriel says between irrepressible chuckles. "Next time, we're doing this at my place."


	5. Heavy Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The proud few who stopped the apocalypse have a bond too deep for words. They need another form of communication._

  
Like you weren't gonna get to see Gabriel's place.

It's only one of 'em, but according to Gabriel it's one of his favorites, at least in the top five. It's at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, and every room looks out on the ocean through one window or another. Even the bathroom, which is a hell of a lot nicer than most people's Olympic-sized pools or high-priced saunas. Normally Gabriel keeps scantily clad women and cabana boys around to hold out towels and otherwise attend to him, but that doesn't seem entirely appropriate for their rendezvous now, not with three lovers in tow. He vanishes the hired help just before they touch down in the middle of the living room, Dean looking kind of queasy, Sam duly impressed, Castiel as usual with no emotion showing in his face whatsoever.

He doesn’t need to show it, though. His calm curiosity floats through the air and is picked up and accepted by each of the others there. That's the advantage of having a four-way psychic-sexual connection. That's why they're able to do this. Because they understand and accept each other exactly as they are. Warts, demon blood, broken wings and all.

Gabriel doesn't need to say they have the run of the house; that's why they're there. They've been on the road for a long time now, swimming upstream in a river of blood and mangled corpses that has left them more than exhausted. They need this pick-me-up. It's going to be an awfully nice night.

The Mediterranean is brilliant periwinkle blue, sliding toward the color of rose wine when the sun begins to set. Dean is learning to drink wine, and Castiel has taken to it nicely. At sunset, they sit out on the porch and talk quietly and sip glasses together, watching the setting sun reflect in their goblets like the light of an angel's grace. This is what they do, when they're left to their own devices; drink, and talk, and talk some more, and then have more to drink. If it weren't for the fact that they're madly in love, they'd seem like two old guys sitting out on the steps in the town that lies at the base of the hills. They're that comfortable, that low-key together.

Gabriel, on the other hand, wouldn't know low-key if it bit him in the butt, and so he’s laid Sam out on the sofa like a Roman emperor and is persistently feeding him delicacies that he thinks Sam will like. It starts out nice -- smooth pate, foie gras, grapes and black olives -- but then Gabriel pulls out a Cheez Doodle and sends Sam into paroxysms of laughter, and it only gets worse from there. Sam outright refuses to eat the chocolate-covered cockroach, and he hides his face when Gabriel snaps it right up. But he still doesn't resist when cockroach-eater Gabriel leans over the back of the divan to kiss him, then topples over the furniture to fall right down on top of him. Sam just laughs, winds his arms around Gabriel's waist, and hoists him forward to take more long searching kisses from his lips.

They're still making out on the couch when Dean and Castiel return from the porch. Dean trails his hands over Gabriel's shoulder. "We're gonna go run a bath," he says. "If you guys feel like coming." Not waiting for a response, he moves on, meeting Castiel at the base of the stairs and taking his hand before they ascend.

They're just getting in when Sam and Gabriel arrive in the doorway. They strip quickly and step in, and the water level rises, spilling suds onto the floor of the bathroom from the rim of the deep tub. "Oh God, heaven," Sam groans as he sinks in. Dean's head is already leaned back against the rim of the tub. He grunts in agreement, and the two of them just sit quietly and let the warm water melt their sore muscles.

Angels don't suffer from tense muscles, and while Sam and Dean relax, Castiel and Gabriel look for something to do. Castiel busies himself running his fingers along the contours of Gabriel's face, enjoying the sudden crease as Gabriel's mouth erupts into a mischievous smile. The contact gives Castiel a peek into just what idea has got Gabriel grinning, and he cracks his own version of a wicked smile -- this one subtle, with a hint of a nod. He withdraws his hand and instead folds his arms behind his head and watches as Gabriel dips beneath the surface.

Sam's expression changes abruptly, and Dean has only to look at Castiel to know what's going on. He looks down, sees the blur that is Gabriel's head, and laughs raucously. Sam answers that laugh with a groan, and his eyes start to close. Sam laid out, chest starting to rise and fall quicker as Gabriel sucks him down under the water, is too much to resist, and Dean reaches out, tilts Sam's head toward his, and kisses his lips slowly. Castiel is a quiet, happy spectator, just watching and appreciating the aesthetic beauty of these two beautiful brothers kissing, Castiel likes to watch. He likes to let the heat and tension build, not feeling the need to join in or stroke himself. Hard but content, he sits and enjoys.

Dean feels Sam come, feels teeth bite down on his lip as Sam's body erupts into shudders that splash water all over the bathroom floor. It is the first climax of the night but far from the last, and Sam grins, his smile sunshine-wide as bliss turns his skin to a tingling mass of goosebumps. Now and only now does Castiel move forward in the water, to lay a single kiss on Sam's neck and to borrow just a little bit of that euphoria. He sighs, then shifts over Sam in the water to draw a hand over Dean's jaw. Dean nuzzles his fingertips. Then Gabriel abruptly surfaces between them, and Dean breaks into snorts of laughter once again.

The sun has shrunk away behind the horizon by now, and the stars are starting to come out in winking pinpricks above the villa where they're holed up. Gabriel suggests they go up to the roof to watch the stars. The night breeze chills their bodies, so they accept the robes he proffers, and Dean and Sam spend a long moment remembering all the times they'd watched the stars together. Nothing needs to be said. Nothing ever needed to be said. Despite everything that has changed between them, that part is still the same.

A streak of a shooting star slides by overhead and winks out. All four of them shudder. When Sam reaches out to touch Gabriel's shoulder, when Castiel slides his hand into Dean's, they know it's time to go inside.

Dean whistles and Sam bites back a laugh when thy enter the bedroom. The name is apt, since the room itself is basically one big bed, with a springy, padded floor and shelves lining the walls with every form of toy known to man. Castiel has never seen some of them before. Gabriel's more than happy to demonstrate their use through a mouth latched onto Castiel's neck and a flood of images so persistent that Castiel growls and reaches for the chain of plastic beads before anyone else has gotten comfortable. "Wait, wait, patience," Gabriel chides, and Castiel puts them back. But he glances at them furtively every minute or so.

Dean's flopped out over the floor, his body fresh and pink from the bath and shuddering from the night. Castiel rips his focus away from the toys to crawl hands-and-knees over Dean. "You're beautiful," he whispers, and he reaches down to kiss Dean's lips. Dean's hands rise to undo the knot on Castiel's robe -- his own was left at the door, but Castiel didn't think that far ahead. Gabriel pulls the unknotted robe off his shoulders and begins to lavish attention on his brother's spine, sliding down vertebra by vertebra, chuckling at the shudders he's eliciting.

Dean groans and stretches out beneath the kisses Castiel's now laying soft and sucking along his neck. His hand reaches above his head and clasps Sam's ankle. "Oh, hey," he murmurs, "didn't see you there." In response, Sam comes to kneel close to his head. He takes Dean's hand, lifts it, and places it on his cock. Dean can feel the wet stick of pre-come on Sam's hand and he knows what he'll find before he gets there. He groans and starts to pump gently at an erection that's inching ever closer to his head, until he can tip back and taste the very tip. Sam's the most excitable of the four of them, and Dean's a little jealous of his ability to get hard over and over. But that excitability gives Sam endless energy in bed, and he's always eager to give back all the pleasure he gets.

Sam's eyes meet Gabriel's over the chain of bodies -- Castiel is still flattened out over Dean, and they're grinding together as Cas kisses Dean's neck, Dean's groans making his soft tentative licks of Sam's cock even more titillating -- and they smile. Sam leans forward, careful not to crush anyone, and takes a kiss from Gabriel's lips. "I know, I know, I love you too," whispers Gabriel with something like exasperation rounding out his tone, but it's all in jest. "Don't you think you've had your dick sucked enough for one night? You're going to get a big head. You don't taste like lollipops or anything."

"Then let me return the favor," Sam says, and sliding down to kiss Dean's lips once -- and he can taste himself on Dean's lips, and Gabriel's right, no lollipops there -- he crawls around them to slide between Gabriel's legs. Gabriel gives a keening moan as Sam starts to tongue his balls, gentle wet mouth sliding and sucking them in one by one. He arches and buries his head in the small of Castiel's back, chin sliding down so it's practically rutting into his ass. Castiel gasps with sudden need. Gabriel chuckles - guess who's still thinking about those toys.

It's hard to concentrate with the constant, slippery warmth of Sam's mouth all over him (now tonguing the sensitive flesh on the underside of his sac, now slipping back upward to swallow down his cock) but Gabriel's nothing if not a stubborn SOB, and when he gets an idea in his head it's damn hard to get it out. And right now he has the idea to rile Castiel up until the poor sucker can't remember to breathe. Boldly, without waiting for permission, he presses kisses to the cheeks of Cas' ass, then gently presses inch by inch down into the cleft between them. Castiel seizes up and makes absolutely filthy noises, hips jolting upward and causing Dean, beneath, to arch up in search of suddenly absent contact. When Gabriel's tongue flickers across his hole, Castiel shoves himself so far backward that he nearly smashes Gabriel’s face in. Dean holds him down, kissing his lips and keeping him steady as Gabriel begins to lick him open. Castiel shudders, grinds backward. Dean holds him steady, whispers, "Gotcha, Cas, gotcha," Dean’s hand rises along with his hips, mashes their cocks together, and Castiel's noises are so obscene that all four of them end up groaning in response. With Gabriel's tongue buried in him, Castiel comes, abruptly and hard, staining Dean's chest and stomach with white and then smothering the mess with his own body as he shakes and cries out.

Castiel's lips claim Dean's when he can use them again, and Dean, freshly charged with the excitement of feeling Cas shudder over him, murmurs, "Wanna fuck you," a sentiment Castiel nods his vehement agreement with. He's up, letting himself slip from Gabriel's grasp only with regret, and in an instant he's mounting himself on Dean. Still panting, but never winded, he sets his thighs into motion, and Dean gives a cry. Cas' legs are like a motor, plunging Dean in and out without so much as a twitch of Dean's own hips, and Castiel's dick is still spraying little white dots over Dean's chest, and Dean can't wipe them up fast enough. He gives up the ghost and just hangs on to Castiel's hips, trying to calm him down, trying to take control of the runaway train. Gabriel laughs at the frustration in Dean's face, and then he just plain groans, tumbling onto the mattress next to Dean as Sam does things to his cock that should be illegal. No mouth on earth should be that large and that talented all at once.

Dean looks at Gabriel and they grin, partners in corruption, as wicked as Sam and Castiel are (in their own ways) pure. When they kiss, it's to share ideas, and to enjoy the sense of camaraderie, the rapport that they have always shared, since before either of them cared to admit it.

Gabriel reaches down to clutch Sam's hair as his orgasm approaches. He starts muttering things through gritted teeth, mostly compliments of Sam's prowess, but an "oh fuck you all are so! fucking! amazing!" creeps in there somewhere, and when his orgasm slams into him Dean swears he can hear a “love you guys ---ahh!" That's OK. Gabriel's secret is safe with him. In so much as it's a secret, because really, they all know.

They are, all, in love. Perhaps Dean and Castiel share a certain bond, perhaps Sam and Gabriel do. Perhaps when they no longer need this kind of communication, they will drift back into platonic friendship, albeit warmer than the alliance they'd shared before. But for now, for whatever it's worth, they all love one another.

Gabriel nuzzles Dean after he comes, momentarily pacified into the shape and manner of a sleepy puppy, and Dean chuckles. But Castiel above him is unstoppable, and Dean's plummeting toward a climax that's too much, too soon. He gives Sam a pleading look, and Sam scrambles up to his hands and knees to hold Cas from behind, calming him down. "It's OK,” he whispers, lavishing kisses along Cas' neck. "Gently. Gently."

Castiel is still in thrall to those images. He wants more than he's gotten, and Sam files through his memories and imagination until he finds something he can give him. He slides a hand along Dean's thigh, and Dean picks up the idea and nods. He's down for that. Again, their communication at work.

Sam reaches up to the shelves, picks out some lube, and slicks his cock with it. It's hard to witness that many orgasms and not be hard, and Sam is no stronger than anyone else. He's practically aching now, When he slides into Cas next to Dean's cock, Sam shudders violently, So much so that Dean worries he's going to come, but Sam's got some patience in him, thank God. He pumps in steadily as Castiel keens and leans back against Sam one minute, folds forward to kiss Dean then next, pleasure and pressure wracking his body.

The extra space, the additional heat, slows Dean down, but it also builds him up, and now he feels like he's reached a plateau, a wonderful neverending vista of good feelings that keep sweeping through him without taking him to a peak. Sam's not having such luck, partly because he really is the most sensitive of the four and partly because Gabriel's slid behind him and is fingering his ass gently. He gasps, hiccups, stutters as his hips pump faster and harder against Cas' wide-open hole.

Dean reaches out and he doesn't know who he's touching. They're all so close together, and the communication is so heavy among them. It's that knowledge that throws him full-tilt over the edge, keening and moaning as he spurts into Cas, hips lifting hard enough that even Sam has to lift along with them. For a long time, he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide open, Feeling Castiel and Sam reach their climaxes as though in the distance. His mind whirls over how alone he felt not so long ago, and how very far from alone he is now.

And then Gabriel's cock is near his mouth and he finds something better to think about.

* * *

Sunrise. Gabriel awakens first and stirs the air with his brand of magic. They fell asleep in a huddle, exhausted, winded, tingling with a thousand good feelings. But they will awaken side by side, clean, refreshed. It’s the last gift he gives them before reality pulls them back into a world where there are bright lines drawn between lovers and friends and brothers, where it’s a constant race against the darkness and where every man is out for himself.

But even after the last wistful kiss goodbye, even after the jolting trip back -- hell, after they’ve started a new case and are charming the local women with fake FBI badges and wide smiles -- the connection continues. Dean looks over at Sam while they’re on the highway, and shares that same meaningless smile with him. But now he doesn’t feel alone. The lines of communication have opened, and they will not close again. They’ll remain open just as long as the sky touches the earth. As long as angels can feel and brothers can love.

*end*


End file.
